


Two Sides to Every Story

by hurdlelocker



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jim is the Inquisition's official cockblock no matter what, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating, Secret Santa 2020, kiss to make it better (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurdlelocker/pseuds/hurdlelocker
Summary: Mahanon Lavellan does NOT have feelings for Dorian Pavus, thank you very much.--Dorian Pavus simply finds the Inquisitor very interesting.--Spoiler: they're full of it.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Two Sides to Every Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nihilisticspacebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilisticspacebear/gifts).



> Late Merry Christmas to you NihilisticSpaceBear! I had a lot of fun writing this piece and I hope you enjoy this fluffy little moment between Mahanon and Dorian!
> 
> (Also thanks to Toshi_Nama for giving it a pre-publish review <3 )

Mahanon Lavellan had nothing but respect for the Tevinter mage. There was no other, deeper reason for him to spend all his free time holed up with the Vint in a small alcove of the library tower reading about magic. Well, unless you counted his own interest in the topics they researched. It was to his benefit, really, to be spending time bent over dusty tomes, sharing a bottle of wine, and researching the Fade and the work past mages have done to study it. Nothing in the conversations with Dor— Pavus had any deeper meaning. The man was a  _ Vint _ , for Creators’ sakes! So what if he managed to make just the right joke at just the right time when tensions got high… and those tensions were nothing  _ but _ Dalish versus Vint tensions. Why else would there be tension?

There was nothing else happening. Especially not during a study session when the anchor decided to flare up and Pavus dropped his book to take hold of Mahanon’s left hand to try to contain the magic and lessen the pain. The look of concern in Pavus’s eyes was solely related to Inquisitor Lavellan being able to continue leading the Inquisition and helping Pavus defeat the Venatori, not for Mahanon’s personal well-being. Why would it be anything else? Mahanon wouldn’t  _ want _ it to be anything else.

He certainly doesn’t regularly remember the way the candle light reflected off Pavus’s shiny hair, making it gleam like obsidian, or the way it made his grey eyes shine like silver pieces. The sight didn’t make his heart skip a beat. His breathing was only shallow because of the pain not because of the proximity. 

The mark was throbbing, stinging, stabbing. It took everything in his power not to allow his hand to rip open a rift in the middle of the library. Mahanon took a deep breath and tried to calm his mind, like Solas had once suggested for when the Anchor got bad. Pavus’s honey-like voice quietly chanting healing incantations as he pulled on the Fade to control the pain certainly wasn’t how he was getting his mind to calm. The sparks and tingles he felt shoot through his left arm to his belly were solely related to the magic, not the mage.

After a few moments of unmoving time, the fog of pain subsided and the bright green light emanating from Mahanon’s left hand dimmed. Mahanon realized he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point and tentatively relaxed his muscles. As the tension left his body, it became apparent that his eyelids weren’t all that had been squeezed. His stomach did a backflip as he cautiously looked down toward his hands. When his eyes had been shut, it seemed he had grabbed onto Pavus’s other arm (his hand, actually) and was holding on for dear life. He relaxed his grip but didn’t release it. Cautiously, he brought his eyes up to Pavus’s face.  _ When did we get so close? _

“Do you feel better, Inquisitor?” Pavus whispered, even though there was no one else around. 

Mahanon stared back, at a momentary loss of words. The golden light of the candles seemed… blurred… rom—  _ Do NOT finish that thought, Mahanon! _

_ Why is my mouth suddenly so dry? _ He licked his lips and noticed Pavus’s eyes dart to them.

“Yes, much better. Thank you,” Mahanon whispered, a bit hoarsely.

The moment stretched and slowly, Mahanon realized he was leaning closer to Pavus. And… he wasn’t moving away.

“Inquisitor! I have an urgent message for you from Commander Rutherford!” A hooded Inquisition Scout (Jim, was it?) barked through the silence. “He has information about Corypheus’s lieutenant, Samson, and needs to speak to you right away!”

* * *

Dorian Pavus was fascinated by the Inquisitor. Ignoring the fact that the elf’s attitude would get him killed the moment he entered Minrathous, he was just  _ interesting _ . They regularly found themselves holed up in his library corner researching various histories of time magic and the veil. The man had a sharp wit and Dorian enjoyed tossing barbs at him about his lack of arcane experience. He wouldn’t freely admit it, but Lavellan’s more tradition-based understanding of magic provided a unique perspective that helped him see things differently that he would otherwise.

The mysteries of the Anchor glowing on his hand continued to confound, however. It seemed no matter what thread they pulled, they were no closer to figuring out how to keep it from spontaneously exploding. Initially, Dorian had wanted only to focus his research on the task at hand (the identity of their foe, ways to weaken the Venatori, time magic, etc.), but as researching with the Inquisitor became routine, he found his focus drifting toward the same topics as the Inquisitor; most often, on the Anchor.

Dorian thought this interest in the Anchor and its nature was purely academic on his part, until a late study session one evening when the Mark flared up, causing the Inquisitor to drop his book and fall forward out of his chair. Immediately, Dorian was on his knees on the floor with him, pulling at wisps of the Fade to rudimentarily halt the pain. He wasn’t the most skilled healer, but he had been studying some basics to help the group while they traipsed through hither and yon fighting Red Templars, Venatori, and other mad creatures. The added risk of regular attacks made it seem a rather wise decision, all told. Though this hadn’t been the way he’d imagined using the knowledge.

Between incantations, Dorian massaged the Inquisitor’s arm, whispering soothing words laced with the sarcastic bite that had become commonplace between himself and the Inquisitor. He looked up at the Inquisitor's face, trying to gauge the pain and was struck by how the markings (valislin? Honoring… Dirthamen?) melded with the pained expression on Lavellan’s face. It was almost… artistic… 

Time marched on and Dorian watched the Inquisitor’s eyes screw up with pain as he grabbed onto Dorian’s other hand in a vice-like grip.  _ Kaffas, I hope this is actually helping. I can only imagine the backlash if somehow I managed to kill him instead. _ Dorian shook his head to banish the thought. He was a brilliant mage, even if he was just flying by the seat of his very fashionable pants right now. At the very least, he would know when to stop.

Slowly, but surely, the green light faded and the Inquisitor’s face relaxed and his breathing calmed. Dorian continued massaging the arm with the Mark but stole a glance at the Inquisitor’s face. As he had been working, he had leaned closer to the Inquisitor in order to really focus his magic where he needed it; but the Inquisitor had leaned in too. 

“Do you feel better, Inquisitor?” Dorian whispered, not wanting to startle him nor break the silence of the tower. 

He watched as the Inquisitor licked his lips and swallowed before answering, feeling a familiar jump in his stomach as the Inquisitor’s tongue traced chapped lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck. 

“Yes, much better, thank you,” the Inquisitor replied hoarsely.

Dorian didn’t want to be the one to break the moment.  _ What if… should I risk it? _

Both men were leaning closer together as if enchanted. Dorian’s confidence in his risky plan began to grow, until the clomping of boots up the stairs grew louder than his confidence. 

“Inquisitor! I have an urgent message for you from Commander Rutherford!” A hooded Inquisition Scout barked through the silence. “He has information about Corypheus’s lieutenant, Samson, and needs to speak to you right away!”

Dorian heard a nearly inaudible groan from the Inquisitor as he leaned away and released their hands.

“Yes, fine. Thank you, scout. Tell the commander I’ll meet him in the War Room shortly.”

“I think he said to meet him in his office…”

“Fine. Yes. Whatever. Wherever. Tell Cullen I’ll be there soon,” Lavellan scowled. “I want to help Pavus clean up the mess we made researching the Anchor first.”

The scout bowed quickly and turned to dash from the room, proverbial tail between his legs.

The Inquisitor let out a long, heavy sigh. “Well, Pavus, duty calls. Do you want help tidying up? Or should I head to my meeting?”

Dorian smirked. “You can go on and meet with the Commander. This is no more to manage than our usual study sessions, all told.”

Lavellan nodded and stood up to leave. “Alright then. Well…” he paused awkwardly as he tried to think of what he wanted to say. “Thank you… for, you know, helping with… this.” He waved his left hand for effect. 

Dorian rose from his stool as well. “Of course, Inquisitor. I’m happy to help.”

The men lingered for a moment, the tension from before the scout’s interruption creeping back into their shoulders. 

An idea popped into Dorian’s head.

“Although, I think I did forget one final piece of the spell for your hand,” he said as he took Lavellan’s hand in his and brought the palm to his lips, kissing it softly. “There. That should help keep it stable for awhile.”

  
  



End file.
